


peer pressure

by burnt_oranges



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Pining, a dot of angst, graduate student!sokka, modern!atla au, social worker!suki, vet!zuko
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:01:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29448942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnt_oranges/pseuds/burnt_oranges
Summary: Zuko stares down at the ten separate encrypted attachments that Azula had sent him--each of them labeled with the last names of the wealthy assholes that they’re supposed to be grifting for funds at the gala for the Ba Sing Se zoo.Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose and resists the urge to light his desk on fire.
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki/Zuko (Avatar), Zuko & Jet
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43
Collections: HZH Palentine's Day 2021





	peer pressure

**Author's Note:**

> hello em!! it is i! your exchange giftee :)) i am so happy and excited to gift this to you, and it killed me to not bounce ideas off you haha. thank you to sin and connie (ao3: egeria) for all your cheerleading and help. special thanks to connie for the group chat names and the concept of sokka's invention, and another special thanks to thekingofsorrow for helping me with the formal clothes!! your ideas were fantastic, as usual. :D this is part 1 of 4-- it's finished, i'm just editing the rest. famous last words, i know, but you know where i live on the internet :)
> 
> \--as far as warnings go, it should be fairly canon-typical in content; some mentions of (canon-based) past trauma  
> \--atla!modern au and the gaang is in their mid-twenties  
> \--jet and zuko are roommates, jet is a part-time vet at the zoo  
> \--ursa is present and well

Zuko stares down at the ten separate encrypted attachments that Azula had sent him at 3:45 in the morning, each of them labeled with the last names of the wealthy assholes that they’re supposed to be grifting for funds at the gala for the Ba Sing Se zoo. The post-script says: _part 1 of 4 zuzu i WILL test u_ and then a string of indecipherable emojis. 

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose and resists the urge to light his desk on fire. 

Bumi is in charge of the gala for some spirits-fucked reason, and he keeps soliciting the weirdest shit to sell--what the _fuck_ is anyone going to do with a radish the size of someone’s head or a jewel-encrusted wax sealer that looks like a dildo? Azula has spent the last two weeks surprise-testing him and then giving him actual formal grades in a locked report format, Zuko himself has spent the last forty-eight hours at the zoo operating on a very sick tiger-caribou, and he just--frankly, he just wants to sit at Sokka and Suki’s kitchen table and watch Sokka cook while Suki heckles him. He wants to drink shitty plum wine and eat candy, and he wants Suki’s casual physical affection and Sokka’s terrible electronic music, and he wants to kiss the inside of Sokka’s beautifully-formed wrist and the wry, upturned corner of Suki’s mouth and--well. He can’t have what he wants.

Instead, he’s stuck memorizing the backgrounds and motivations of people who are ex-colleagues of his father and more likely to knife him in the back than give money to the zoo that Zuko loves with all of his heart.

Zuko sends Azula a text that says, _go to sleep_ and then, unsurprisingly, receives no response even though he knows for a fact that Azula is glued to her phone. 

“Wow, that’s like, a million yam emojis,” Jet says, whistling. “Azula has like, a blood-grudge against emojis, do you think she’s been replaced by an alien?”

“Azula hasn’t slept in at least three days,” Zuko says grimly. 

“Dude, neither have you,” Jet laughs. “Even though I hold you very tenderly in my arms every night like a little baby--”

“ _You_ should be stressed too, you also have to memorize this shit,” Zuko says severely. “What have you been doing?”

“Oh, what’s that?” Jet says, cupping a hand around his ear. “Is that Iroh calling me--”

“Do not use that on me, _I_ originated that when we were seven-years-old in Ms. Iyumi’s class, you are _stealing_ \--”

“Relax, man,” Jet says, pressing his thumbs into the wings of Zuko’s shoulder blades where all the muscle knots are. “Don’t worry about the plagiarism, worry about Mr. Whoever-the-fuck--” Jet squints at the screen filled with names. “Wow, I didn’t realize Kimu was still alive.”

“They never die,” Zuko says into his hands. “They’re just old men, living for eternity, here to torment me--”

“Who’s tormenting Zuko?” Suki chirps, shoving the door open with her hip, a bubble tea and a plain milk tea in each hand. “It better be me.”

Jet looks at her, betrayed. “Hey, that’s my job.”

“Well, you’ve been fired,” Suki says, matter-of-fact.

“I’ve had this job since pre-school, you can’t take my job,” Jet says, attempting to swipe the bubble tea. “Watch, I’m going to unionize and then you’ll be sorry.”

“Let me know when the election results come through,” Suki says sweetly, stepping to the side. “You’ll have to excuse me, Jet, I’ve come to kidnap Zuko.”

“Absolutely _not_ excused,” Jet says, pointing a finger at her.

“Are you supposed to announce you’re kidnapping someone?” Zuko says, reaching for the milk tea, which Suki neatly evades by executing a complicated little twirl.

“Nope,” she says. “You can’t have this until you eat some actual food.”

Zuko frowns.

“Be careful or your face is gonna stick that way, Zuzu,” Jet says, smirking. “Anyway, I gotta scram and speak to a woman about a vegetable. See you later, baby,” he says, patting Zuko’s cheek. 

“Fuck you, baby,” Zuko says, but Jet is already out the door, cackling.

Suki hooks an arm around Zuko’s waist, steering him toward the door, and Zuko yanks the file print-outs from the desk as a guard against Suki’s relaxation agenda. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s go down to Iroh’s shop.”

Zuko lets out a tiny smoke-filled sigh but allows Suki to guide him down the cramped and precarious stairs into his Uncle’s teashop. Early spring sunlight pours through tall, enormous windows, off-setting the chill, drenching the green-painted wooden tables in brightness, and Suki maneuvers Zuko to a table by the window where it’s warm. Ming immediately comes by with plates of steaming hot dumplings and spicy noodles and then very pointedly fills Zuko’s plate, ignoring Zuko when he makes a face. 

Zuko tries to hand Suki Ms. Rikao’s thick paper file--two off-shore accounts, chief executive officer of Foo Foo Cuddlypoops’ pet food company, has a large and bizarre collection of electronic robot toy owl-hamsters--but Suki crosses her arms to avoid it.

“Uh, no,” Suki says. “Not until you eat at least three dumplings.”

“Suki, do you realize how behind I am,” Zuko says. Suki just stares at him, implacable. He sighs and stuffs an entire dumpling in his mouth. 

“Sokka’s going to the markets today, he’s going to try to get that special fish you like,” Suki says, swiping her thumb over her mobile screen.

“Tell him whatever they ask for, offer half of that,” Zuko instructs through a mouthful of dumpling. “He’s too much of a pushover, they can scent weakness like tiger-sharks.”

Suki lifts an eyebrow. “Didn’t you make the fishmonger cry last time?”

“Hey, you haven’t been to the markets with my mother,” he protests. “She makes _everyone_ cry.”

“ _Your_ mother?” Suki says, her eyebrow creeping further up her forehead. “But she’s so nice.”

“To _you_ ,” Zuko says, dubiously eyeing another dumpling. “Shopkeepers are her natural prey.” He considers this further. “And her mahjong group.”

“Don’t just look, Zuko, eat,” Suki orders. 

Zuko sticks out his lower lip.

Suki narrows her eyes. 

Zuko hastily scoops up a dumpling and takes a bite. Suki smiles, her eyes half-mooned like a cat’s, and Zuko feels reflexively pleased with himself. 

“You don’t bully Sokka like this,” Zuko says. 

“I don’t have to,” Suki says dryly. “He actually listens to me.”

Zuko snorts. “The same Sokka who overdosed on energy drinks trying to finish his invention for the gala?”

“Because he kept getting a secret supply from Azula,” Suki says grimly. “Your sister--”

Zuko holds up a hand. “I already brought it up in the Friends Against Arson group chat.”

“Wasn’t it the It Sucks We Have To Be Here (ISWHTBH) group chat?” Suki says, resting her chin on her hands.

“Ty Lee has a death wish and changed it when Mai was in Caldera,” Zuko says, looking longingly at his milk tea; he personally thought that one and a half dumplings should be more than enough to fit Suki’s criteria. 

Suki presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Maybe I should get Ty Lee to chi-block Sokka,” she says. “I just want him to sleep.”

Zuko’s heart aches at how her shoulders hunch inward, the smallness of her voice--he wants to collect her into his arms, hold her tightly, press his cheek against hers. 

“I hate Long Feng,” Suki says feelingly. “I hate that he’s Sokka’s chair. He just makes Sokka feel so--so small, and I want to punch him in his smug face.”

“I can hold him while you punch,” Zuko says encouragingly. 

Suki bursts into laughter. “Thanks,” she says. “I appreciate that.”

“Anything for you and Sokka,” Zuko says earnestly.

Zuko had met Suki when they were thirteen, and Suki gave Zuko all of her candy when he opened his lunch to find Azula had stolen it. Suki was--she was like one of his own limbs, had snuck under his guard when he had been so angry at the world that he could taste it, an intense bitterness under his tongue. When she had met and started dating Sokka in their first year of university, his happiness that his two favorite people were happy together had been lined with an undercurrent of brackish sadness that shamed him with its selfishness.

Suki is silent for a long, pensive moment. “Zuko, you know that I--” she starts.

“A new blend,” Uncle announces, startling Zuko almost out of his skin and setting down a tray of steaming hot tea. “Ginger, cinnamon, honey, and--a very hot cayenne pepper.” 

Suki pours two cups and then looks meaningfully at Zuko’s last dumpling. 

“You must try the noodles as well,” Uncle says, “Ming worked very hard on them.” Uncle serves Zuko several more piles of noodles--Zuko represses a sigh--and then looks over Zuko’s shoulder onto the stacks of paper. “Ah, Rikao Mina! Very unfortunate, she’s been tied up in court the last four years over embezzlement of funds in their sister company, Mochi-Mochi--”

“--isn’t that the company that sells stuffed bears?” Suki says, incredulous.

“Oh yes,” Uncle says sagely. “They’re so popular that the waiting list is three years long.”

“What makes them so popular?” Zuko says. 

“It’s the little hearts inside of them,” Uncle says.

“The stuffed bears can love you?” Zuko says, confused.

“No!” Uncle laughs. “Their hearts are made from bloodstones.”

“Oh,” Zuko says.

Uncle flips through three more files. “Min Che was caught with his daughter’s significant other in the coat closet at the most recent showing of _Love Amongst the Dragons_ , Qi Fane is still consumed with his quest to own every single collectible Taro Mogo toy, and Bai Mushin--well, her last three husband have mysteriously disappeared and now she is fabulously wealthy.

“Uncle,” Zuko manages. “I--did I need to know all that?”

“I presume you want to raise funds, yes?” Uncle says mildly, raising his eyebrows. 

Zuko frowns. 

Uncle flips to the last file. “Ah, Zhao--I’m surprised he still shows his face publicly after the court furor.”

Zuko stiffens, suddenly intensely nauseated, the dumplings curdling in his stomach. The last time he saw Zhao, Zuko was thirteen years old, and Zhao had been taunting him about Ozai and about his--his face. Zuko looks down at his plate, his stomach bubbling up into his throat, thick, suffocating. He wants to put his hands over his face, to sink down in his seat, to be as small as a mouse-rabbit and hide, but Ozai had always despised that weakness in him, and--

Suki reaches over and puts her hand on his. “Zuko,” she says. 

“I don’t--” he says, shaking his head, clamping his trembling hand onto his hot teacup.

“Take me as your date,” Suki says.

Zuko chokes. “What?” 

“Take me as your date,” she repeats. “I can be your--your bodyguard in disguise.”

“I can take care of myself,” Zuko says tightly.

“So?” Suki says, defiant. “Let me do it. Let me take care of you instead.”

Zuko swallows, his face hot. “Aren’t you--aren’t you Sokka’s date?” he says.

“Sokka suggested it weeks ago when Azula first started sending you those ridiculous study materials,” Suki says, her voice dry. “Besides, he’s probably going to be dragged around by Bumi all night.”

“Does that make Bumi Sokka’s date?” Zuko says blankly. 

“I--why would you say that,” Suki says, aghast.

“Bumi always did know how to attract dates,” Uncle muses. “Why, I once walked in on him and Pakku and three others in varying states of--”

“Uncle!” Suki and Zuko protest.

“Please,” Zuko begs. 

Uncle shrugs. 

Zuko looks at Suki, who has buried her face in her tea. She’s so--so ridiculously kind, and he doesn’t--the last thing he has ever wanted is to be a burden to her. Suki grew up in foster care until she was eight-years-old and adopted by Kyoshi and Rangi--he knows that she holds family tightly in her heart, that she will run herself into the ground if someone needs her. Suki is just so _good_ , and he could never hope to--Suki and Sokka are so happy together. Sokka makes him laugh until he cries, he’s so fucking brilliant, so gentle, and he doesn’t know it, but he holds Zuko’s heart in his hand, lightning-damaged as it is, and Zuko--Zuko loves them. He loves them.

Zuko smiles weakly at her. “All right,” he says. “Fine. It’s a date.”

Suki’s face lights up, and she claps her hands. “Sokka got the fish,” Suki chirps, sliding his milk tea toward him. “15 yuan.” She winks at him. “Date. Oo, let’s go formal clothes shopping tomorrow.”

She looks so pleased with herself that Zuko doesn’t even have the heart to tell her that Sokka got over-charged again. 

“Great,” he says. “Great.”

Zuko drinks his now-cold milk tea and has no idea how he’s going to survive this.


End file.
